You had learned not to expect conventional gestures from Caracalla. If there was one thing that had become clear over all these years together, it was that his way of showing affection was steeped in his relentless and theatrical nature. But even for someone like you, who knew each of his whims, today’s display was... excessive.

When you entered that room adorned with flowers and rich tapestries, your senses were overwhelmed by an intoxicating blend of perfumes and an air heavy with expectation. The soldiers remained silent, almost afraid to shift their gaze toward you and him, who guided you with a firm hand on your back.

Caracalla was radiant, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. His smile was not that of the feared emperor but of a man in love, eager for your approval. “Do you see? All of this is for you,” he said as he led you to the center of the hall.

There, before your eyes, a man knelt, chained, and utterly defenseless, looking at you with a mixture of pleading and resignation. The execution was swift but brutal. The condemned man’s screams echoed through the walls as his blood stained the decorations surrounding the scene. You could feel Caracalla watching you with a burning intensity, more focused on your reaction than on the death unfolding before you both.

When the body finally lay still, he turned to you with a smile bordering on devotion. “Tell me, did you like my gift? I did it for you, for you.”